444
by TBAChikita
Summary: DNA swapping, cornball antics, and the Crime Scene Master! Let the merriment begin!
1. Whoa Nelly

NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.  
  
A/N: I had writer's block on my own stuff so here goes! This is in reply to a challenge by Newland5x over on YourTaxDollarsAtWork.org. They requested a story where Hollywood bigwigs try to make a film about the CSI's. Let the merriment begin.  
  
CH.1-  
  
"Absolutely not!" Grissom rose from his chair, glaring at the sheriff.  
  
"Look, Grissom. This is just what the department needs right now. Free, positive publicity. Hell, they're plannin' on making you science nerds out as heroes!" The sheriff gave a humorless laugh at the thought.  
  
Gil Grissom shook his head in disgust. The last thing he needed was a bunch of Hollywood types watching his every move, messing up his crime scenes, and putting his team in compromising positions.  
  
"They're coming tomorrow to follow your crew around. Be nice. Make us look good."  
  
"We're one of the best labs in the country. We have the best criminalists in the world, and we are currently back-logged."  
  
"Good! Make sure they know that." The sheriff stood to leave, making it abundantly clear that the subject was not up for negotiation. Grissom sighed, and stormed out of the office.  
  
~-~-~-~-~  
  
Sara Sidle leaned back in a break-room chair, with her eyes closed tight. She had been called in to help with a hit and run case for the day shift. The result of which was a nasty tension headache.  
  
"Hey!" Greg bounded into the room like a six-year-old in need of Ritalin. "Didja hear?"  
  
Greg flopped down next to Sara, who looked over at him with a weak grin.  
  
"What?" Sara yawned, and sat up.  
  
"Jacqui just told me that you guys are gonna be tailed by Hollywood filmmakers tonight!" Greg grinned from ear to ear. "You think they'll get Matthew McConaughey to play me?" Greg tried to look suave, but looked more like he had mental problem.  
  
"What?" Sara's head suddenly began to throb.  
  
"How cool is that? Oh! I could SO see you played by Sandra Bullock!" Greg looked off into the distance at the fantasy playing in his mind.  
  
"What?" Sara felt her left eye begin to twitch. She took another drink of her coffee, which was suddenly far too weak.  
  
"You ok?" Nick nudged Sara's arm as he took a seat on her other side. She nodded unconvincingly.  
  
"You hear the news, Nick?" Greg was practically bouncing in his seat from his excitement.  
  
"What?" Nick grinned at the over-excited lab rat.  
  
"Oh man." Sara rubbed her temple, and frowned at them both. "Don't get him started."  
  
"We're gonna be stars!" Greg beamed.  
  
Nick cocked an eyebrow at him, and looked confused.  
  
"How's that?" Catherine smiled, walking in behind Warrick in time to hear Greg's zealous comment.  
  
"Greg's been sniffing the luminol again." Nick laughed, and offered Sara a fresh cup of coffee.  
  
"Greg's unfortunately correct." Grissom entered the room followed by a short man in a baseball cap, flannel shirt, and thick-rimmed glasses. "The sheriff felt that our group would be the best ones for the crew to follow around to get a feel for what a real CSI deals with on a daily basis." Grissom's tone was less than enthusiastic. The man beside Grissom gave a small wave.  
  
"Hi. First off, I'm really honored to be following you guys around. And I promise!" He made a dramatic pause, and took a deep breath. "My team will in no way hinder your work, or get in your way. You won't even know we're there. Honest!" He smiled the broad, labored smile of a seasoned politician.  
  
"Catherine, why don't you take Mr. Stinker. . ."  
  
"Uh, that's Stingher, Mr. Grissom. Hehehe. Easy to see, um, how you could mistake that." Mr. Stingher gave another smile, and handed Grissom his card. 'Al B. Stingher, Writer/Producer.' The rest of the team stifled giggles.  
  
"Yes, well, Mr. Stingher, I'd like you to meet one of my team members. Catherine Willows. Cath? I need you to check on a 419 at the Bellagio. Hot tub." Grissom winked to her from behind the writer. Catherine grinned. Great! A bloated floater would probably have this guy vomiting in the hotel halls. "Take Warrick and Mr. Stingher with you."  
  
"Nick, you're on a B&E on the North strip."  
  
"Ah man!" Nick groaned. Another lousy breaking and entering case. Grissom gave him a warning glance that quieted his whine.  
  
"Sara, you're with me. We've got a 419 at the Ihop on Clemmons Street."  
  
"Uh, Mr. Grissom?" Al Stingher tapped Grissom's shoulder impatiently.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Well, the rest of my team will need to go along with you and your other CSI's as well."  
  
"The rest of your team?" Grissom stopped cold.  
  
"Yes. There's Theresa, my assistant director and co-writer. Michael, my special affects guru, and Bob."  
  
"Mr. Stingher." Grissom began.  
  
"Call me Al."  
  
"Ok, then. Al. You do realize that we're conducting very important police- related work here, right? This isn't a sound stage. You're going to see real dead people."  
  
"Um, well, yes. No need to go all Sixth Sense on me. We'll be totally discreet. Just go about your usual thing, and we'll watch." Al walked past Grissom to the hall, and his waiting crewmates.  
  
"Gris? Are they for real?" Nick slurped down the rest of his coffee, and grabbed his coat from the chair.  
  
"Yeah. Sorry guys. It's just for tonight's shift. This is the Sheriff's doing. I was totally against it."  
  
"Anyone touches my crime scene, and they'll be pulling back bloody stumps." Sara grumbled as she pressed past Grissom, and scowled towards the film crew. Grissom smiled.  
  
"Dude."  
  
"What?" Sara spun on her heels to face the stranger's voice hovering over her shoulder.  
  
"I'm Bob." A tall, lanky guy who looked to be in his late twenties held out a hand, and grinned through his shaggy blond hair. He had a startlingly square jaw line, and glaringly white teeth.  
  
"Hi, Bob." Sara reluctantly shook his hand, and stared imploringly back at Grissom.  
  
"Guess I'm with you huh?" Bob smiled wanly down at Sara. The guy had to have been at least six-foot-eight. He wore a similar outfit to Al's. It appeared that the baseball cap and flannel shirt was the uniform of choice for this film crew.  
  
"Looks that way." Sara nodded to him, and made her way towards the locker room. She was halfway down the hall when she realized Bob was following right behind her.  
  
"Look. Why don't you wait back in the conference room?"  
  
"Al said I was supposed to stick with you everywhere." Bob seemed genuinely distressed.  
  
"Well, not in the locker room you're not. Don't worry. I won't tell Al." Sara held a hand up to halt him, and entered the locker room alone with a deep sigh of frustration.  
  
~-~-~-~-~  
  
"Howdy! Looks like yer with me." A slender brunette sauntered up beside Nick as he pulled on his jacket.  
  
"Well alright then." Nick grinned. He didn't like the idea of being shadowed, but at least he got the hot one.  
  
"I'm Theresa Stokes." She extended a hand to shake.  
  
"Excuse me?" Nick nearly choked.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
"Your last name is Stokes?" Aw man. . .  
  
"Yeah. You have a problem with that?"  
  
"Well, no. Not really. I'm Nick Stokes." He held out a hand, and laughed. Theresa smiled in turn.  
  
"Really? Where's your family from?"  
  
"Houston."  
  
"Wait a second!" Theresa's eyes suddenly lit up, and she burst into laughter.  
  
"Huh?" Nick felt totally lost.  
  
"Little Nicky?" She could barely get her words out. "I DO know you! We're second cousins. Last time I saw you, your sister Nancy had you dressed in her prom gown wearing bright red lipstick!" She crossed her arms and nodded her head in recognition.  
  
"Wha?" Nick's jaw fell open, and his eyes went wide. Greg, who had been admiring Theresa's assets from behind spit his $50 a pound coffee across the room, and gasped.  
  
"Oh. . .jokes. . .too easy." Greg covered his mouth, and fled to his lab.  
  
"Ohhhh-kay. That was like twenty years ago." Nick's cheeks were flushed.  
  
"Sorry, Cuz. Didn't mean to embarrass you." She chuckled.  
  
"You didn't embarrass me." Nick feigned machismo. "It's totally cool. Let's get going. The cops are prolly already waiting for us at the scene." Nick ushered Theresa out of the room, and made a note to threaten Greg's life if he mentioned this to any of the other lab rats.  
  
TBC 


	2. Everybody got their buddies?

NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.  
  
CH.2-  
  
Grissom walked quickly down the hall in search of Sara. He groaned under his breath when he spotted a tall, blonde-haired man standing vigil outside the door to the locker room.  
  
"May I help you?"  
  
"Dude, I'm just waiting for the dark-haired chick. Al told me to stay with her" Bob held up his hands in mock surrender.  
  
Grissom cringed.  
  
"Ah. Well, I guess you'll be with me too then."  
  
"Cool, Man." Bob extended a hand, and Grissom shook it, and grinned.  
  
"Wait here." Grissom held up his hand to keep Bob in place, and entered the locker room. He spotted Sara sitting in front of her locker staring at her feet.  
  
"Are you hiding?" Grissom was amused. He'd never seen Sara act intimidated before.  
  
"I'm not hiding. I'm trying to relax before I slowly descend into hell with Bob the builder out there." She motioned towards the door, exasperated.  
  
"Yeah, well, it's just one shift. He's too tall to misplace, and he seems like he'll follow orders if told to stay put." Grissom shrugged.  
  
"He's still standing right outside the door isn't he?" Sara shook her head, and stood up.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Ok. Why did we get stuck with this and not Day shift?"  
  
"If you were the sheriff, would you really want to be represented by Conrad Ecklie?"  
  
"Good point."  
  
~~-~-~-~-~  
  
The SUV sped towards the Bellagio with Warrick behind the wheel. Catherine sat in the back seat as a certain swarthy film director had gleefully shouted 'Shotgun!', and claimed the front passenger seat. They pulled into the back lot, and met Jim Brass at the door.  
  
"Who's this?" Brass eyed Al suspiciously.  
  
"Sheriff sent him along for show and tell." Catherine gave Brass an innocent grin, and followed him into the back workers' entrance.  
  
"Oh yeah? I brought a dead squirrel in once." Brass smiled at the confused look Al possessed.  
  
"Why does that not surprise me?" Catherine winked at Brass as Warrick chuckled.  
  
"He's in one of the honeymoon suites. Top-of-the-line room too. Checked in alone three days ago. He had the 'Do not Disturb' sign hung on the doorknob. Cleaning lady found him this evening when she was checking the towels." Brass spoke quickly as they walked to the elevators.  
  
"Did you get a positive ID?" Warrick set his case down in the elevator.  
  
"I'll let you guys do that." Brass grinned, and looked over at Al. He raised his eyebrows at Catherine, and shook his head.  
  
As the elevator doors opened, Al followed Warrick down the red carpet-lined hallway. Brass hung back, and called to Catherine.  
  
"What's with this guy?" Brass motioned towards Al.  
  
"Oh, the sheriff is making the whole night shift allow a film crew to tag along." She glanced down the hall at Al pestering Warrick about his kit as he tried to dust the door for prints.  
  
"Ouch. Sorry. Has this guy ever seen a dead body? I mean, other than on a set?"  
  
"I doubt it." She smiled.  
  
"And you brought him to see a floater?" Brass broke into a big grin. He motioned with his head for her to follow him, and they met Warrick and Al at the police tape in front of the door. Al watched, intrigued, as Catherine carefully cut through the seal and tape, and opened the door with gloved hands. The smell that greeted them when they entered was less than pleasant. Warrick instructed Al to breath through his mouth.  
  
"Here." Catherine handed Al a pair of gloves. "Put these on, but don't touch anything. They're for just in case." She rolled her eyes as he struggled to pull on the tight rubber gloves. 'Newbie,' she thought to herself. She walked around the room taking photos, and checking things that made little sense to Al. Warrick was already in the other room with the body.  
  
"Hey, Cath?" Warrick called from the doorway. "Ya might wanna keep Al out here for a while." He had a look of disgust on his face. He hated floaters.  
  
"Good idea. Any noticeable signs of struggle?"  
  
"Why should I stay in here? The sheriff Ok'd my seeing everything." Al looked to Catherine, who he now realized was in charge. Catherine looked over at Brass, who shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Ok with me." Brass stood back, and looked to see that the door to the room was wide open. Catherine was less than thrilled with possibility of her crime scene being contaminated.  
  
"I'll warn you ahead of time. Floaters are pretty nasty." Warrick walked back into the large bathroom equipped with a full Jacuzzi tub, two-person shower, and large marbled hot tub. Floated right side up in the middle of the hot tub was a humanoid form, ghastly bloated from overexposure to warm water for a long period of time. The skin was cracked, and discolored. It resembled Jaba the Hut more than a human being. Al took one long look, and then made what sounded like a dry heave.  
  
"Out!" Catherine motioned for Warrick to escort him away from the scene as quickly as possible.  
  
"Oh, this is gonna be a fun night." Brass shoved his hands in his pockets, and gave Catherine a sympathetic look. She rolled her eyes, and continued processing the scene.  
  
"Jim, tell Warrick to show the guy how we process a room. . .out there." She pointed towards the other room.  
  
"Gotcha." Brass laughed, and made his way to the door to check on their Hollywood hotshot.  
  
TBC 


	3. Ihop you have a great day!

NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.  
  
CH.3-  
  
Sara sat in the driver's seat of the Tahoe waiting for Grissom and Bob to get in. Didn't this guy realize he was messing with the best CSI's in the country? She knew hundreds of ways to make him disappear without a trace. At least ten of them had already gone through her mind, when Grissom finally buckled up.  
  
"Hungry?" Bob noted they had stopped at IHOP, and stuck his maniacally grinning head up into the front seat between Grissom and Sara.  
  
"Uh, no. This is the crime scene." Grissom pointed out the police cruisers, and crime scene tape as he got out, and retrieved his and Sara's kits from the back.  
  
"Dude." Bob's solemn tone brought an inquisitive look to Grissom's face.  
  
"Here. Put these on, hold this, and do NOT touch anything." Sara handed Bob a pair of rubber gloves, then had him carry her kit for her.  
  
"Play nice." Grissom chided her quietly.  
  
Sara followed Grissom to the back of the restaurant towards the now open freezer.  
  
"Sara? Take photos. I'll start dusting." Grissom opened his kit, and pulled out a bottle of printing dust and a brush, and went to work. Bob stood back, still holding Sara's kit obediently. He watched their every move intently. Sara snapped off photos of the trash can that had hours before been smoldering. She moved carefully into the freezer, and took pictures of the victim who was still duct-taped to a chair in the center of the huge walk-in freezer. After she was satisfied that she had photographed everything pertinent to the case, she rejoined Grissom near the body.  
  
"That's weird." Sara looked at the bindings curiously.  
  
"You see it too?" Grissom smiled to her as their gaze went from the girl to the freezer door. "Run it through for me."  
  
Sara walked over to the freezer door, and looked back.  
  
"This door wasn't locked. She's duct-taped to the chair, sure, but look at her bindings. A weakling could've broken free. She could've just broken the tape, and walked out alive." Sara cocked her head to one side, and studied the body again. "Head trauma maybe?"  
  
Grissom shook his head.  
  
"Not that's obvious. Maybe she was drugged. We won't know for sure until after the autopsy. What'd you see out front?" Grissom stood, and closed his kit back up. Bob took it all in with interest as Sara went back to playing out the evidence.  
  
"The fire in the trash can was deliberately set from what I could tell. . .So, somebody barely tapes her to the chair, leaves her in an unlocked freezer, steals the money from the safe -which, by the way shows no signs of forced entry- and then sets the trashcan on fire before they leave? Why?" Sara shook her head. Grissom gave her a 'think harder and you'll see it' look that she both hated and loved. "Ah!"  
  
"Yes." Grissom nodded.  
  
"So maybe this was a set-up. Fake robbery/arson. The fire was meant to attract the fire department to come 'rescue' our victim here."  
  
"But, apparently, our arsonist wasn't very adept at setting fires. The trash can is metal, and didn't have much paper in it so it contained the fire. It was also close to the grills, so the smoke ventilator took care of the smoke before it had a chance to reach the detectors." Grissom looked down at the bluish face of the worker. "She could have just got up, and walked out, but she allowed herself to freeze to death." He shook his head in disgust. "People amaze me."  
  
"I'll drop the evidence off at trace when we get back. My guess is she had a helper." Sara snapped off her rubber gloves, and walked out towards the parking lot. Bob followed like a puppy dog. Grissom watched their guest with interest. Al was the writer/producer. Theresa was a writer, the other fella was a special affects wizard. What did Bob do in the motley crew?"  
  
TBC 


	4. The end is nie

NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.  
  
CH.4-  
  
Nick led Theresa into the grocery store. A police cruiser sat out front, and a young, green-looking cop was busying himself taping off the area. Theresa pulled something out of her jacket pocket, and before Nick could react, a flash went off in his face.  
  
"What the. . ." Nick staggered back a few paces.  
  
"Sorry!" She smiled sweetly at him as he stood rubbing his eyes.  
  
"What'd ya do that for?"  
  
"Just wanted a candid to send to Mom. She's going to love this." Theresa examined the store curiously. "So what do you do now?"  
  
"Look, this is serious. Please, just don't touch anything. And no more pictures. Gimme that." Nick swiped the disposable camera, and stuffed it in his pocket. "You can have it back later."  
  
"Sorry. I like to have pictures of everything. Is that a crime officer?" She batted her eyes at him innocently, and grinned.  
  
"You really ARE a Stokes female. I'm a forensic investigator, not a cop. And quit flirtin' with me. . .it's creepy." Nick faked a disgusted shudder, and went to work dusting the counter for prints.  
  
"Oh, don't flatter yourself. So! What are you doing, and why?"  
  
"I'm dusting for prints. If the guy hasn't kept his nose clean, he'll be in the system."  
  
"That sounds easy enough. What if he's not in the system?"  
  
"The cops question the workers here, and we look for clues. Tire treads, foot prints, hair, blood. Pretty much anything that can lead us to our guy."  
  
"Or girl." Theresa corrected him, watching the officer finish taping up the door.  
  
"Yeah, but usually B&E's are male, and the girl at the counter said it was a guy in a ski mask." He carefully lifted a print from the counter, marked it and stuck it in a small bindle. After what Theresa felt was ages, Nick stood up, and closed his kit.  
  
"Let's check out the store front." Nick walked out front, and Theresa followed. She couldn't shake the image of Nick in Nancy's gown, looking like a lost puppy surrounded by angry cats. She smiled to herself, and jotted down some notes in her pocket PC.  
  
Nick was crouched down over a set of dark tire treads on the pavement.  
  
"See these? Probably from our guy's car."  
  
"You can get stuff from tire tracks?" She was impressed.  
  
"Oh, yeah! Definitely."  
  
"Ok. What do we do after we collect everything?" She secretly hit the 'record' button on the side of her pocket PC.  
  
"We take it back to Greg Sanders at the lab. He and his other techies'll run the prints, check the DNA, and sometimes break the case for us."  
  
"Sounds like Greg's a big help to the labs."  
  
"Yeah. He's our Mr.Wizard. He lets you know it too." Nick shook his head and laughed. "Let's get this stuff back to the labs. You hungry?"  
  
Theresa paused the recorder, and nodded her affirmation.  
  
~-~--~-~  
  
Greg hovered over his telescope, doing a little dance as he cranked up his death metal of choice for the day.  
  
"Looks like you're having fun!" Michael, the special affects coordinator shouted over the music. Greg turned around, smiled widely, and motioned for him to come in. He hit 'stop' on his CD player, and sat down on a stool.  
  
"Hey! You with the film crew?" Greg could hardly hide his enthusiasm.  
  
"Yeah. Name's Mike. I make all the guts an' stuff look real."  
  
"Cool!"  
  
"What are you doin'?" Mike pointed to the scope.  
  
"Checking out a few strands of hair for skin tags. Trying to nail a rapist. I think I got him. If the DNA from the hair they found on the victim matches the DNA from the suspect We got him!" Greg sat up straight and proud. Not bothering to bore Mike with the fact that is had been Sara's diligence, and hours of overtime spent scouring an empty warehouse that had brought these pieces of DNA to Greg's table.  
  
"Whoa! That's wild! Can I take a look?"  
  
"Sure! Here." Greg scooted away from the desk, and showed Mike how to adjust the microscope. "See that glob on the end of the hair?"  
  
"Oh, man! That's amazing! We gotta show something like this in the film." Mike pulled a sketch pad out of the satchel that was slung over his shoulder.  
  
"What? Really?" Greg tried to keep his voice in an octave that didn't sound like that of a happy schoolgirl.  
  
"Yeah! This is where the action is. Next thing I'm checking out after here is the morgue." Mike's eyes gleamed as he quickly jotted down an image or two. Greg strained his neck to get a better look. It looked like a guy in a lab coat packing heat. Greg's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"So. . .what's the film gonna be called?"  
  
"Not sure yet. That's up to Al and Theresa." Mike clamped his pad shut, and looked up at Greg. "Could you show me to the morgue? I'm supposed to meet a Dr. Robbins?"  
  
Greg's face fell at the notion of losing contact with the crew, but he was happy to be of help.  
  
~-~-~-~  
  
Bob was humming something to himself from the back of the SUV. Grissom looked over at Sara who had her jaw clinched, and guessed she was probably thinking very bad things about their new friend. Grissom smiled to himself.  
  
"Bob?" Grissom suddenly spoke up, bringing Sara back from her thoughts.  
  
"Yeah, Dude?" Bob looked intently towards Grissom.  
  
"What exactly do you do? For the production, I mean."  
  
"Ahhhh! Yeah, Man. I'm the fact checker." Bob nodded his head vigorously as if he were a possessed Bobble head.  
  
Grissom's eyes went wide, and Sara's tense jaw seemed to almost crack as it fell open. That was enough to silence the SUV all the way back to the labs. Sara got out, shook her head as if trying desperately to empty it of the nonsense that had been thrown into it during this night. Grissom had a somewhat defeated and amused expression on his face as he watched Bob swagger back towards the building.  
  
~-~-~-~-~  
  
"Ohhhh." Al came out of the men's restroom looking a very unflattering shade of green.  
  
"You ok, Man?" Warrick patted him on the back.  
  
"Uh. . .how do you guys stand that? How does she stand that?" Al shook his head amazed at Catherine's stainless steel stomach.  
  
"You get kinda used to it." Warrick smirked. He almost felt bad for the guy. At least shift was going to be over soon. "Don't worry. I'll show you how we collect evidence around the scene." He grinned at the relieved look on Al's face.  
  
TBC 


	5. That is just so wrong

NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.  
  
A/N: Tonight's writing is brought to you by too much coffee, my mother requesting that I stay up late and tape some radio show on people who see disasters in the future, scary stuff on the local news, and the letter M.  
  
CH.5-  
  
Grissom sat in his office, finishing up the paperwork from the previous shift.  
  
"Grissom!" The sheriff knocked on Grissom's door, grinning broadly.  
  
"Were your filmmakers happy?" Grissom sighed, deeply relieved not to have to see Bob's grinning face any longer.  
  
"Great! They loved it. Whatever your guys did was great!" He gave Grissom the thumbs up symbol, the archaic symbol for male fertility Grissom mused to himself, and left as quickly as he'd arrived.  
  
'Why can't all his visits be like that?' Grissom shrugged his shoulders, and went back to his paperwork.  
  
Seven months later:  
  
"What's this?" Sara looked up from her coffee at the piece of paper Grissom had just thrust under her nose. He handed one to each of his crew with an amused look on his face.  
  
"We are being 'treated' to a private screening of the film 'Crime Scene Master.' Remember our Hollywood friends from last year?" Grissom sat down at the conference table.  
  
"Oh, man." Warrick groaned. The image on the flyer featured a very buff Matthew McConaughey wielding a magnifying glass in one hand, and a semi- automatic in the other.  
  
"Sweet!" Greg nearly fell off his chair. "When are they coming?"  
  
"Tomorrow afternoon. You'll have to come into work a bit early if you wish to participate. It's completely optional. Dayshift was offered a viewing as well."  
  
"Yer kidding me right?" Catherine read the flyer. "This is crap! Listen to this. 'Witness the majesty of science as it kicks criminal ass.' 'Lust and luminal in the DNA labs.'" Sara spit coffee out, trying not to laugh.  
  
"Why's there luminal in the DNA lab?" Grissom shook his head, as Nick burst out laughing.  
  
"It's a movie, Gris." Sara smirked.  
  
"Oh, I'm there!" Greg snagged his flyer off the table, and headed for the DNA lab. "I wish there was lust in my lab."  
  
~=~=~=~=~  
  
Warrick pulled open the door to the large police auditorium. There was already quite a crowd, and a group of reporters questioning the filmmakers. He spotted Sara, and Greg sitting towards the back, and made his way to them.  
  
"Hey, Warrick!" Greg cheerfully handed him a ball cap with "Crime Scene Master" emblazoned on it. "They handed 'em out earlier." He grinned, and slurped his jolt cola.  
  
"This should be interesting." Sara shrugged her shoulders. She wished Grissom had come too. She also wished she'd run to the restroom before the show started. Aw well.  
  
"Ew! Ew! It's starting!" Greg bounced eagerly in his seat, and slapped his knee for good measure.  
  
"It's not a porno, Greggo. Relax." Warrick laughed at his enthusiasm as the lights dimmed.  
  
Suddenly heavy metal music flooded through the room, and a black SUV flew by on the screen, with a flashing, red siren on top. Its tires came to a screeching halt outside of a McDonalds restaurant.  
  
"Hmmmph. Pretty obvious product placement." Sara grumped, as she drank her delightfully tasty, always satisfying "Ale-8-one."  
  
Matthew's character stepped from the vehicle in dark shades, and pulled his jacket back from his waist to show off his badge and gun. He stood posed like that for a good three seconds staring at nothing in particular. Suddenly, a tall, brunette stepped from the other side of the car.  
  
"Is that. . .?" Sara began only to be shooshed by Greg.  
  
'Gaston? We're needed inside. . .there's a 419. Too bad for this chick.' Sandra Bullock pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, and rolled her eyes.  
  
'Coming, Tara.' He slapped 'Tara's' ass as he passed her by.  
  
"Oh, puuuuh-lease!" Sara snorted, only to be met by even more shooshing noises from around them. She shook her head in disgust.  
  
Inside the restaurant, a woman sat tied to a chair in the freezer. Her arms had been sliced off, and were lying beside her on the ground. Miraculously, there was not a drop of blood to be seen anywhere.  
  
'What've we got?' Gaston kneeled down, and picked up one of the arms.  
  
"PUT SOME GLOVES ON!!!" Sara heckled. Greg and Warrick sunk down in their seats.  
  
'Definitely not armed robbery!' Tara snorted. Gaston grinned at Tara. Tara twirled around on her heels, and placed a hand on her hip while gazing around the freezer.  
  
"Ohhhhhhhh." Sara groaned, and covered her eyes. When she opened them, moments later, it was to the sight of Gaston pressing Tara up against the freezer door, and kissing passionately. "OK, count me out." Sara stood and scooted her way down the aisle and out of the auditorium.  
  
"Sheesh!" Greg shrugged, and looked back up at the screen.  
  
'Better bag this for Craig. He'll want to run tests. He'll figure this crime out in no time.' Gaston handed the arm to a still-un-gloved Tara, who placed it in a large plastic baggy.  
  
Greg nearly peed his pants from excitement. He grabbed Warrick's arm, and loudly whispered, "That's me! I'm Craig! I'm Craig!!!"  
  
"Get off me, Man!" Warrick pushed the lab rat away.  
  
'Let's move out, Hun.' Gaston replaced his sunglasses, and kissed Tara once more.  
  
When the scene faded back in, they were inside what looked like a laboratory from an old sci-fi flick.  
  
"Isn't that the dude who plays Darth Vader?" Warrick eyed the screen suspiciously.  
  
"Yeah. . .who's he supposed to be?" Greg cocked his head to one side, and looked around.  
  
'Craig! We need your help, Stat!' Tara handed the baggy to Darth Craig, and stood right over him as he opened it.  
  
"Huh. . ." Greg felt let down. "He's ok, and all, but he looks nothing like me."  
  
"Give it a rest." Warrick laughed.  
  
Onscreen, Tara leaned in, and whispered something into Craig's ear.  
  
'But I thought you were with Gaston?'  
  
'I was, but you'll always get first dibs on my DNA.' She pulled him to her, and kissed him deeply.  
  
"Oh, man, now that's just wrong." Warrick shook his head. Greg drooled.  
  
'In fact, I have a confession. It could end both our careers.' Tara's eyes began to fill with tears.  
  
"WHAT? WHAT??" Greg yelled at the screen, receiving a soda can to head in response.  
  
'Pretty soon your and my DNA will forever be joined.' She histrionically rubbed her non-existent belly. Craig teared up as well, and pulled her into yet another passionate embrace.  
  
Greg whimpered from his seat, sobbed openly, and then left the auditorium. Warrick shook his head, and went back to watching. Suddenly, Craig looked down at his pager.  
  
'Gotta go, Tara. Warren and Katie need me at the scene. Take over for me here until I get back. You really shouldn't be out in the field with your condition anyhow." He leaned over and kissed her while patting her belly. Tara nodded a teary, smiling face. Warrick chuckled.  
  
The SUV drove by the screen again, in what looked like the same scene as the beginning, stopping in front of a casino. Craig got out toting a leather briefcase, and strode into the building, flashing his shiny badge at everyone as he passed.  
  
'Bought time you got here. What the hell took you so long?' Pamela Anderson stood with her hands on her hips, glaring towards Craig.  
  
'Busy as always, Katie. Tara gave me a hand though, so here I am.' Craig set the briefcase down on the bed, opened it, and pulled out what looked like a turkey baster!  
  
"What the?" Warrick's eyebrows shot up.  
  
Onscreen Craig followed Katie into the bathroom of the posh hotel room.  
  
'What up, Dawg?' An afro-wearing Samuel L. Jackson smiled up at them both. He sat on the edge of the hot tub, holding a grotesque-looking head in his hands. A saw lay precariously on the tub beside him. Craig smiled and nodded.  
  
'Head's up, Man.' Warren tossed the disembodied head to Craig, who caught it easily.  
  
'Hmmm. . .Looks like he was poisoned.' Craig gave a wizened nod, and pointed to the mouth. 'See here?'  
  
Both Katie and Warren nodded.  
  
"What the?" Warrick was disgusted, but strangely mesmerized by just how awful the film was.  
  
'OK. Katie, you question the hotel guests. Warren? I need you to get the rest of that body to the morgue for me.' Craig picked up his briefcase and the now bagged head, and walked out. Warren wagged his eyebrows at Katie, who licked her lips, and motioned with her finger for him to come hither.  
  
'Yeah, Baby. That's what I'm talkin' about!' Warren pulled Katie into a kiss, and they both fell on the heart-shaped bed as the scene faded.  
  
Warrick's mouth fell open.  
  
Craig walked the halls of the building that Warrick supposed was supposed to be CSI headquarters. It looked more like an office building with cubicles, and people waving as Craig walked by carrying the head. Suddenly, Craig stopped, and entered a room marked 'Evidence Room.'  
  
'Nathan?!?' Craig stood shocked at the site before him. A tall dark-haired man stood in front of the camera dancing around with a boa around his neck. The music was loud, so Craig was able to sneak up behind him.  
  
'Ahhhh! Ya'll gotta knock first, Man!' The actor Warrick recognized from the Tick twirled around.  
  
'Is that red lipstick?' Craig reached up, and rubbed a bit off with his thumb. The tall man with the heavy Southern accent grinned, and laughed nervously.  
  
"Ok...I'm done." Warrick, finally reaching his nonsense level, rose to leave. He was met by a familiar face striding up the aisle with the same intention.  
  
"Hey, Cath." Warrick grinned.  
  
"Can't believe we stayed this long!" Catherine laughed, and followed him out to the hall. Sara and Craig were sitting out in the hall chatting about something, when they saw their two colleagues exit.  
  
"I win!" Sara proclaimed proudly to Greg's dismay. He handed her five bucks from his wallet.  
  
"Hey, guys." Catherine walked over to the two who were getting up from the floor. "What are you two still doing here?"  
  
"Greg and I made a bet on who would be the last to bail on the film. I said you, Cath." Sara gave a crooked smile.  
  
"Yeah, barely." Greg mumbled.  
  
"So. . .are we all in agreence that that was quite possibly the worst movie ever made?" Catherine smiled, and glanced around the crew.  
  
"What?" Greg's head darted up. "It was awesome! You're just mad cuz they weren't completely accurate."  
  
"Not completely accurate?!?" Warrick spat out. "They had me cutting a guy's head off with a saw. . .at the scene. . .with no gloves on Then jumping in bed with Catherine at the crime scene." He shook his head at the star- crazed lab rat, and laughed.  
  
"Well, they made me a pregnant whore!" Sara groaned to the snickers of all around. "Oh, shuddup." Sara wacked Greg in the arm.  
  
"Ow! It's not my fault I have DNA the ladies love."  
  
"Alright. Now that that nightmare is over. Let's get to work. Grissom is probably already waiting for us in the conference room." Catherine walked off, followed shortly by the others.  
  
~=~=~=~=~  
  
The group sat patiently in the conference room as the time for their assignments to be handed out came and went.  
  
"Where the heck is he?" Nick stood up, craning his neck to glance down the hall.  
  
"Why didn't you go to the filming?" Warrick laughed at Nick.  
  
"Yer kiddin' me, right? I told you, my sister called me a week ago, and gave me the heads up on the scenes Theresa wrote for me. What'd I ever do to that girl?" He shook his head.  
  
Sara got up to refresh her mug of coffee, and saw Grissom coming down the hall. He wore a dark blue baseball cap with "Crime Scene Master" emblazoned on it, and held what looked like a t-shirt draped over his arm.  
  
"Hi." He grinned at Sara as he approached.  
  
"Where were you?" She fought back the laughter, and shock at what she knew now would be his answer.  
  
"At the screening, of course." He stated matter-of-factly.  
  
"Uh-uh. We were at the screening, and we didn't see you anywhere."  
  
"I was in the front row." He smiled, and walked right past her. The others stifled their giggles upon seeing their boss in his movie attire.  
  
"Uh, Gil?" Catherine smirked, and pointed at his hat.  
  
"What? It was very amusing and entertaining. You didn't honestly expect this to be a serious, science-driven drama, did you?" Grissom chuckled, and handed a file to Catherine.  
  
"No, but since when can you stomach slap-stick humor?" Catherine took the case file, and thumbed through it.  
  
"It was a very good lesson on human perception. One person can see a pineapple, and another sees a hand grenade." He grinned at Sara, and went back to handing out assignments.  
  
"Sara, you're with me." He stood up, letting the others file past him out of the office.  
  
"What've we got?" She waited for him to hand her a file. He was still grinning. "Could you, um, please take that off?" She motioned towards his hat.  
  
"Sure." He pulled the offending article off, displaying a bad case of hat- head, much to Sara's amusement.  
  
"On second thought, put it back on."  
  
"That bad?" He frowned, and tried to see his reflection in the glassed wall.  
  
"Yeah, but it's actually kind of cute." Sara spoke faster than she thought, and she cringed.  
  
"Really? Cute?" Grissom turned back around to face her. He had a mischievous grin on his face, which she had only seen on a few rare occasions.  
  
"SO, where are we going?" Sara shifted in her seat uneasily.  
  
"We got a 419 at a movie theatre." He grinned.  
  
"It's not a fact checker is it?" Sara asked, more hopefully than she had intended.  
  
"Let's go." Grissom grinned, and walked out. Sara looked down at the cap on the desk, and picked it up before leaving the room. She watched Grissom heading down the hall, and read the back side of his shirt. 'Master of DNA Swapping.' She nearly choked. This promised to be an enlightening shift!  
  
THE END my friend 


End file.
